


Black and Gold

by Saentorine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blonde!Sif, Childhood Friends, F/M, Gen, Haircuts, Head Shaving, Jealousy, Long Hair, Loss of Virginity, Manipulative Loki, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Mythology References, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Oral Sex, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Revenge, Seduction, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saentorine/pseuds/Saentorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif is tired of how her apparently unrequited feelings towards Thor and cold defensiveness she maintains as a warrior has kept her a virgin for far too long. Loki is tired of Thor’s undeserved entitlement to everything of value in Asgard and Sif’s arrogant and cruel treatment of him since they were children. Somehow these very different agendas lead to the same place-- and no one gets exactly what they planned.</p><p>Set in the MCU but inspired by the mythology of Loki cutting Sif’s hair (and later accusing her of infidelity with him), a Sif/Loki backstory that could explain all the damn <i>tension</i> between them in the films. (It's not just me, right?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the MCU some time before the first _Thor_ movie. 
> 
> This first chapter is the slowest/most expository, so I hope no one loses patience!

_SIF: Welcome now, Loki, and take the crystal cup_  
 _full of ancient mead,_  
 _you should admit, that of the children of the Æsir,_  
 _that I alone am blameless._

_LOKI: That indeed you would be, if you were so,_  
 _if you were shy and fierce towards men;_  
 _I alone know, as I think I do know,_  
 _your love beside Thor,_  
 _and that was the wicked Loki._

-From the _Lokasenna_

***

The feast was meant to honor all of the warriors who had fought in Vanaheim that day, but there was no denying it was foremost a celebration of Thor. Fearing his next Sleep was approaching fast, Odin had appointed his eldest son commander of the forces in his stead to lead the charge against the invaders of Asgard’s closest ally. Under Thor’s command they had made short work and acquired a total surrender by nightfall, and the warriors returned to Asgard in high spirits. 

Given his place as unofficial guest of honor, Sif felt proud to be at his side as they made their way into the hall for the festivities. Although the warriors had been given an hour’s respite to bathe and dress she could still smell the thrill of battle of him—or maybe it was just adrenaline and the lingering pheromones of his sweat barely masked by fine soap. But whatever it was, she relished being close to him to smell it as they both made their entrance in high spirits, cheering along with the court who welcomed them back home.

They approached Frigga, who cupped her eldest son's face and kissed him before taking Sif's hand with a firm and affectionate squeeze. Although she was the high queen of Asgard, Sif had always felt at ease around Frigga, who seemed to regard her like her own daughter-- perhaps because she had no daughters of her own. And while Odin in his gruff way spared less words, she understood his favor in knowing it had been by his permission she be allowed to train alongside the Einherjar, the Warriors Three, and his own two sons. She wondered if as a male practitioner of seidr he had particular respect for those whose talents were not limited to the traditional roles of their sex. 

"Mother, you must hear Volstagg tell of Sif's defeat of a half-Jötun mercenary, more than twice her size!” Thor boasted to his mother on Sif's behalf, with all the enthusiasm of a child for a bedtime story. Sif smiled, charmed by Thor's flattery and unbridled passion for the thrill of battle and the glory of his friend's valor, not just his own. Although rightfully owed foremost attention for the evening he would gladly share the light. "I shall, my son,” Frigga laughed, tenderly tucking a loose strand of Sif's white-blonde hair back in place just before Thor threw a thick arm around her waist and bolted forward to usher them both quickly into the hall.

At the start of the feast, when the mead only just begun to flow, Sif felt warmly part of the camaraderie of the victorious warriors. Telling the tale of their victory, Volstagg tipped his mug to her as he described how she had felled her oversized enemy, and Sif raised hers to him with a smile for the acknowledgement, grinning around as his audience gave her a small cheer. Thor clapped her heartily on the back and perhaps it was Sif's imagination but she was certain his hand lingered between her shoulders much longer than it would have had she been Fandral or Hogun.

Not all of the warriors present at the battle huddled round the fire, however. In the shadows near the windows at the end of the hall, Loki lingered quietly out of sight. He had not been pleased to hear of Thor’s appointment to lead the troops that morning, leaving him bitterly amongst the footsoldiers, and although he had looked for an opportunity to use his magic, some dire moment in which he could have valiantly stepped in to win some glory all for himself, there had been none. Thor’s strategy had been sound from the beginning, a well-timed show of brute force by versatile warriors which required no cunning and deception. So Loki had scaled back his efforts by lingering at the edges of the line taking down weak enemy soldiers of little consequence, many of whom were already fleeing the battle. What use was there in risking injury if Thor would have all the credit in the end?

It did dampen his enjoyment of the feast, however. He did not wish to be at the high table with his parents when Volstagg began telling his tales-- from which Loki was sure he would be notably absent-- lest Odin have any questions for him. As they grew drunker the women would be seeking the warriors named in the tales, not him, and having barely exerted himself in battle he was scarcely hungry for all the food. So he withdrew into the shadows, growing bored-- and, as it always did when he was bored, it was not long before his mind turned to mischief.

As a boy he would have turned the mead to piss, animated the roasted boar so it startled the diners, or guised himself as a maiden to flirt with the warriors only to change back just as one went in for a kiss-- something brash and crude to draw a laugh from Thor and his friends even if it meant fleeing the hall with his father in pursuit-- but there was nothing to gain from such pranks now. He would probably never outgrow defying Odin, but he was wise enough now to know better than to openly call down his wrath, especially now that Thor had clearly taken the place as his preferred son. It wasn’t the same to know that every misstep he made, however jovial and harmless, only went to build Thor higher. Thor himself had even taken to scolding Loki himself sometimes, dutifully representing the voice of their father even though Loki _knew_ he really wanted to laugh along. There was much less fun to be had in the palace now that Thor had stepped seriously into his duties as the heir.

Although she remained down by the fire steadily sipping mead, in time Sif also felt herself fading into the background. As he repeated it Volstagg's own role in his tale grew and grew until Sif was no longer even mentioned. Hogun's eyes soon glazed over with the tell-tale red cast of inebriation and she knew in his state he was even less inviting of conversation than he usually was. Fandral was too occupied with whispering to the lady on his lap to even so much as glance her way-- and Thor too it seemed had fallen victim when a pair of them insisted on tucking themselves between him and Sif, and he willingly moved over to give them room and engage with their smiles and flirtatious touches.

With a quiet sigh, Sif stood and departed for the cooler air by the windows, hoping to quench her hot agitation. The tone of the night was shifting as it always did from the intended ritual of the evening, the tales and sometimes fighting, into the flirtation and coupling off of men and ladies who would begin to depart for bedrooms and gardens leaving only a few last lone drunks sleeping alone in the hall. Just once, Sif hoped, a night would come when her friendship with Thor would transform as it needed to to survive the shift. But it seemed tonight was once again not that night.

In the light of day she could pretend it did not bother her; she told herself that she was above needing such things, and that Thor was still too young and wild to regard his trysts seriously anyway. But despite it all when night fell she ached to be the maid on his lap, feeling the protective warmth of his large hands circling her waist and the tickle of his beard and soft lips as he kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts . . . 

She played absentmindedly with her braid, tucking and untucking the same loose strand Frigga had adjusted earlier. With her bare face, simple gown, and only a thin silver chain at her throat, she wondered if she was nothing so fair to look at next to so many ladies adorned in lavish attire and elaborate sheaths of gems, their faces brightened by colored minerals and charcoal-lined eyes. She had always been told she was a rare beauty, but perhaps she only shone so against the men she spent all of her time with; perhaps she fell short in the company of her own sex. Perhaps Thor, nor any other man for that matter, had no reason to pay her attention in that way.

Loki’s sights found his target, and he seized upon it with a plan. He saw Sif withdraw to the windows; despite her strong, lithe body and thick luxurious hair, beauty that could have paired her with any other man in the hall, she was sulking and clearly irritated by the forward young ladies who had once again thwarted her pursuit—- if one could call such passive inaction “pursuit”-- of Thor. It was plain to everyone how she felt about him-- except, of course, to Thor himself. Always brilliant, ever perceptive Thor. Of course, it didn’t matter how she pined or how little he noticed her now, because in the end she would be his; without striving for her, without ever having known he had wanted her, one day he would wake up and simply have her, as if he was born to it. Which was exactly what he was, of course: born to the best of everything in Asgard simply because of who he was. But that didn’t mean Loki couldn’t tamper a little with the plan.

However, he was instinctively cautious around Sif. It was easy to understand why. As children they had often been paired as sparring partners, the smallest boy and the lone girl. Although he never would have admitted it due to the embarrassment of being likened to a girl, at first he had been relieved, expecting Sif to be gentle and patient like his mother-- but that illusion had been immediately shattered. In her desperate desire to prove her worth as a warrior despite everyone's assumptions, Sif had been ruthless. She was much better than any of them had expected, and she never let anyone doubt it for a moment-- not least Loki, who bore the brunt of her demonstrations in the form of not only humiliating losses, but numerous injuries.

Thor might never have let him win either, but _he_ never went out of his way to rub his face in it-- probably because as the firstborn prince, he didn’t have to. But lest anyone mistake mercy for womanly weakness, Sif would crush Loki hard against the ground, twist his arms and legs into painful positions until he cried out, and keep him pinned until he "asked nicely" for release. Naïve to how much it would hurt she had once landed a sharp kick to his crotch, her triumphant laughter at his tears only fading when she turned around and saw the look of utter horror on the faces of her every other male companion. In fact, it was Sif’s bullying-- and Odin’s bewildered embarrassment that Loki was apparently incapable of defending himself against it-- that had prompted Frigga to instruct him in his first magic, which included a few simple charms he could use in his own defense to feint or confuse her long enough to gain the upper hand.

Of course, it had been centuries since then; any doubts in Sif’s abilities had long been disproven, and she no longer needed to be cruel to prove her worth. Loki, too, had improved as warrior in his own right, and for what he lacked in brute strength he made up for in cunning and sorcery, in which amongst his peers he had no equal. However, he still regarded her with caution—though the acknowledged danger also made his plan more interesting.

Sif continued to sip steadily from her mug and greedily seized another from any passing attendants as soon as it was empty, heedless of whether it held mead or ale, too afraid to be left with nothing to occupy herself. She had hoped the alcohol might improve things, but rather than dull her emotions it only made them more unwieldy. In fact, a large swallow of mead rebelled just as much as her heart did when she saw Thor pull a red-haired young woman who had been more or less prodding at him persistently for several minutes, roughly onto his lap for an awkward drunk kiss, she swallowed with a hearty cough to keep from spattering it all on the floor.

"Disgusting,” came a voice from nearby. Although the voice spoke her own thoughts, she knew they came from outside her head and turned around to see Loki emerging from the shadows, watching Thor’s sloppy kiss with the same disdain as she had. “Does no one have any sense of propriety? To think there are mortals who worship _these_ as gods.”

“Their desires are not unnatural,” Sif shrugged, frowning in resignation. It did not seem like Loki to criticize anything vulgarly sexual, given how many of his pranks centered around genitals, but she appreciated the commiseration. 

“Of course. But to make such a crude show of it? There are hundreds of bedrooms and quiet corners in the garden.”

“Aye,” Sif sighed. “They could certainly be more _subtle_.”

“ _You_ appreciate discretion, don’t you, Sif?” he said with admiration. “It would be impossible for anyone to accuse _you_ of improper behavior.”

“It is not difficult to remain chaste when one refuses to participate in such . . . lewdness,” she replied, casting her eyes scornfully on the revelry. 

“You have not wished to remain so for this long?” he asked, picking up on her spite.

She could not look him in the eye; like everyone else, he must assume her virginity signaled frigidity and disinterest. Her voice was tinged with bitterness as she replied: "Despite what may be said of me, my blood is not cold." She had never admitted such things to her closest male friends, lest they treat her differently knowing she could see them as anything more than comrades in arms-- nor to any of her handmaids or female companions who were sure to titter condescendingly that they’d always _told_ her one day her nature as a woman would no longer be able to ignore her companions as _men_. But although she had never felt especially close to Loki despite all their time spent more or less in one another's company, she had the sense that in his own lonely way this would be something he could understand.

“So you are frustrated by a lack of attention to you?” he asked. “Or is it someone’s _particular_ attention that you pine for?”

“ _Anyone_ ,” she lied, throwing a hand up in what she hoped was a casual gesture. Although it might well be obvious, she did not dare confess a more specific target of interest in front of his own brother. “No one shows interest in me.”

"Is that so? I’m sure that cannot be true of a maid such as yourself. But . . . perhaps they might pay you more attention if you weren't sulking in the shadows, covering up the best parts of you," he commented with a subtle nod towards her bustline, over which she had crossed her arms. She observed other girls in the hall with their arms crossed, their gossamer gowns too inadequate for the mild chill of the Asgard evening creeping through the doors and open windows, but Sif saw now they had all deliberately crossed them _beneath_ their busts to accentuate rather than hide.

“ _That_ cannot be the only reason why,” she scoffed, self-consciously turning a little from him and crossing her arms more tightly over herself.

“Of course it’s not. The reason is your clear disinterest. You are simply not receptive to the attentions they _do_ pay you. Just now I complimented you, and you scorned me and covered yourself. How is anyone to take that?”

“You were being crude,” Sif replied with narrowed eyes. 

“Hardly. I remarked that your body is appealing and it is a shame to cover it. One must start somewhere, and you have to give a little back if you wish them to continue. Few men’s egos can stand being turned down twice, so you are only sabotaging _yourself_ if you reject exactly what you want.”  
“And have them think me so easily won?”

"You still worry about such things? By now I think it clear that any man who dared challenge your reputation would find himself flat on his back in a minute-- and not in the pleasant way," he added.

Sif could not suppress her smile at this compliment-- or, at least, she _assumed_ it was a compliment. She knew Loki had been in that position at her hands many times before, "and not in the pleasant way." Though it had been centuries she felt some guilt for how brutally she had treated him when they were children, especially knowing how fiercely Thor protected his beloved brother and what he might think of one who treated him so callously. At the time he had been a tool in building herself up, a stepping-stone towards dreams from which she would not be dissuaded. As a girl she had not been able to think so far ahead as to how his favor might matter to her later.

She had also been unable to predict how he would grow. In her mind she still sometimes thought of him as the scrawny, awkward child easily defeated and brought to tears, at best a quiet shadow of his golden brother-- but what stood before her contrasted starkly with her mental image. Although Thor had burst into physical maturity obviously and at reckless speed, expanding upward and outward and sprouting hair from his body in mere months like spring greenery after a rain, Loki's transformation had been as subtle and shadowed as the magic he preferred, so she had scarcely noticed it. The once puny boy was still a beardless, slim youth of sharp angles, but his lean legs had become strong, his shoulders more broad and square, and shadows fell differently on the planes of his face. He was undeniably a man now, no longer a boy.

Furthermore, she was surprised to find she didn't mind his company. For centuries her primary response to him had been annoyance and sometimes disgust at his obscene and mean-spirited pranks-- and that they had never failed to provoke a laugh from Thor and the Warriors Three had only irked her more. But now, he spoke with unprecedented insight, and she felt a little badly for presuming him nothing more than an irreverent child. Feeling comforted by his reassurances, she drew close beside him, speaking in a low voice. “Sometimes I wonder if I have ruined my chances by waiting for so long,” she said, looking up at him with curiosity for his reaction. “Perhaps no one is interested in a woman they feel they would have to teach.”

“I can assure you, they are far more intimidated by what might come out of your mouth than what lies between your legs,” he replied, laying a hand delicately on her shoulder. “So long as you put them at ease about the former, I would not worry about that.”

"I would not play a bubbleheaded fool in a dress just to flatter the egos of men intimidated by me," she insisted.

"You do not have to," he said, a gentle hand sliding to rest at the small of her back. "You just need not resist." Sif flinched at his touch, taking her off guard. "Relax!" he laughed, baring his teeth as he smiled and shook his head at her instinctive resistance. 

Sif breathed out slowly. She had flinched not because she was uncomfortable, but because of how startled she was she was _not_ uncomfortable-- not uncomfortable at all. Maybe it was the ill-advised combination of mead and ale mixing in her, but Sif's skin had thrilled at his touch, hair standing on end as a flush warmed over her body. She had not expected her body to respond as it had.

No man's form had ever stirred her as Thor's did-- but she also had to admit she was intimidated by how much larger he was, how brutishly powerful, and how easily she imagined he could accidentally hurt her in the heat of passion, a prospect which was vaguely erotic yet also terrifying. Although Loki’s thin, lithe frame and soft skin were so often used to justify rumors of his unmanliness, before her now she found his body comforting in its similar scale to her own. And she could not deny there was a handsomeness in the sharp bones of Loki's face, his lean figure, and the translucent porcelain tone of his skin. It was a very different kind of handsomeness-- she mused with some amazement at just how different two brothers could look-- but handsome nonetheless. 

He kept his eyes on her, searching for any sign of her discomfort, as he drew her to face him and placed his other hand on her waist as well. His hands were not as large as Thor’s and they felt softer and cooler, but they held her with a gentle but firm protectiveness that comforted her. She had so long devoted her fantasies to Thor that she had not long considered how it might feel with someone else, how it might be just as fulfilling. And in truth she was _tired_ of her virginity, tired of only imagining. She wanted the touch of hands other than her own, lips against hers, skin against skin. Thor was not the only one capable of granting her this.

Their breath mingled in the minimal space between them as Loki watched her with curiosity. His eyes were an unsettling color, especially in the low light; while Thor's eyes were the deep calming blue of the seas and rivers of Asgard on the summer days they most tempted one to swim, Loki's were the dark eerie green of roiling water during the worst of Thor's storms. However, the greedy way they drank her in was nothing short of intoxicating. It was a way Thor had never looked at her, despite all her desperate longing for it, and to finally be looked that way filled her with a bold confidence she had not expected. She was not the cold, virginal sexless creature she carefully portrayed, and she wanted this.

However, Loki spoke reason: “Shall we depart somewhere more . . . discreet?” he asked, his eyes darting to the side to indicate that they were still in the company of so many revelers. 

Sif breathed out heavily in relief, wishing to continue but knowing they could be seen by anyone in the hall: Thor, Frigga, Odin, their friends . . . anyone who might be troubled by her sudden shift in attention to Loki or tease her for finally giving in to the desires they _knew_ had been in there somewhere. 

“Well, come on then,” Sif commanded, as if it had been her idea in the first place. She took his hand and they escaped together unnoticed into the gardens.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warning: Sif has been drinking. She is conscious, cognizant, and takes initiative in ways that indicate consent, but strictly speaking she is under the influence-- hence the "mildly dubious consent" tag. If you are sensitive to that, please take note.
> 
> Also, Sif and Loki do not practice safe sex. Use condoms, kids! :P

Loki knew where he was going. He led Sif purposely into the gardens at something of a trot, causing her to wonder if this were some special preferred location he had determined from previous trysts. She assumed he had had them, anyway. Despite his lack of boasting typical amongst the young men of Asgard and the pervasive whispered rumors that he coupled with other men, even in the role of the maiden-- as well as a particularly vicious one about the origins of Odin’s octopedal horse-- Sif did not believe him naïve to the ways of men and women. Of course, it wouldn’t take much for _anyone_ to be more experienced than her and it stung a little to realize it, for although women were held to different standards she was accustomed to beating men at their own games. The prospect of being the stupid, awkward, inexperienced one did not sit well with her and she felt a nervous tightening in her throat even as she felt resolved to continue. There was only one way to become experienced, after all.

They passed through a opening in a wall of high hedges, where there stood a large, ornate stone bench. Loki waved a hand over it and as they sat Sif recognized that it had been some kind of cushioning spell to make the stone as comfortable as a bed. Nevertheless, she sat stiffly upon it.

“ _Relax_ ,” Loki assured her again, his voice still light and amused by her apparent solemnness. But rather than draw her into his arms and kiss her as she expected, he turned her away from him. She felt his hands grip her bare shoulders and begin to massage, forcing away the tension in her back with his wide palms and long fingers.

Sif laughed at herself then, for needing a shoulder rub simply to kiss someone, and leaned back into the pleasant sensation. Gradually Loki’s hands traveled to her neck and up into her hair, sending tingles along her scalp. She closed her eyes and even moaned a little, feeling the tension in her body fade away better than a hot bath ever could have.

She felt a tickle against her neck and realized that Loki had pressed his face into her hair, breathing in its scent. She had not thought to perfume it, but he seemed pleased by it nonetheless. “Your hair is beautiful,” he mused. “The very paragon of Asgardian beauty.”

Sif noted Loki's own dark hair, which she assumed was some rogue gene held over from Frigga's roots in Vanaheim, a strain of the likes that darkened the locks of Hogun and Heimdall. She wondered if he felt out of place amongst his golden-haired family, if perhaps that was what drew him to it. 

Then, he asked suddenly: "Do you favor blond, yourself?” 

The question took her off guard-- men and women discussed such things amongst themselves, but seldom with each other-- and she hesitated. The answer was simply that she favored Thor, who happened also to be blonde: blonde with hints of red that glinted when he moved in the sunlight, a ruddy, complex blonde that fell in rugged waves masculine in comparison to her own delicate stands of white-gold. But perhaps that was what in essence Loki was asking . . .

She hesitated too long before replying, "Dark hair is fine as well." The look Loki gave her was withering. "It suits _you_ anyway," she tried to correct.

Loki forced a laugh. “Perhaps it would be better if you did not speak,” he said-- and before she could protest he stopped her mouth with a kiss, pulling her in towards him. Sif kissed back, accepting the gentle press of his tongue against her lips. As they kissed Loki’s hands slid gently to her neck again and traced the exposed skin down to her shoulders. One of his hands caught in her hair and he twisted it possessively, the tugging sensation radiating up to Sif’s scalp, and he pulled on it, forcing her body closer to his. With the other he slid the strap of her gown from her shoulder, freeing one of her small firm breasts and cupping it in his hand.

His kisses began to move lower on her body, nipping at places that had never been seen by a man let alone touched, and Sif felt her blood rushing faster, her body warming and tingling with the sensations. 

After some time he had gotten her flat on her back, reclining comfortably against the invisible cushioning he had created. He rose and knelt at the end of the bench-- a sight Sif thought she would never see from him willingly after the years of kicking him down herself-- before gingerly pushing her skirts back from her legs.

“Blonde here as well,” he remarked.

“What did you expect?” Sif asked with a laugh, followed by a gasp and a jolt as she felt the wet heat of his mouth against her sex.

“Keep still,” he scolded, pressing a hand against her belly to hold her in place. His breath as he spoke tickled her and she squirmed; he pressed harder on her belly.

With her skirts stretched between her spread legs she could not see what he was doing-- not that there was need to watch—- but it was difficult to concentrate on anything besides the glowing warm pleasure building in her middle as Loki’s warm tongue prodded into the folds. With no beard or stubble his skin was soft against her tender flesh and she was consumed by the pleasurable sensation and began to feel lightheaded. In a brief moment of cognizance she wondered to whom she owed credit for teaching him _this_ \--Amora? Lorelei? Surely not the _horse_ \-- but her mind was quickly swept blank again by another wave of pleasure, this one the final blow. 

Sif had trained to maintain a stoic face in the face of great pain, but such vast pleasure took her completely off guard. Her back arched, lifting her hips from the seat of the bench. Her legs shook and trembled so violently she worried she might accidentally snap them painfully shut around Loki’s skull, but he held them open with his hands as he continued to lap at her swollen lips, extending her orgasm on for several seconds.

From between her legs Loki watched Sif’s climax with fascination. He was used to women putting on an unnecessary show to stroke the prince’s ego, but Sif’s response was utterly genuine. Despite all her efforts to maintain her poise she could not help her little whimpers and mewls as her body was overcome. He smirked with pride at how easy it had been.

Sif collapsed back against the bench, completely spent, heaving in great restorative breaths as the warm tingling echoed faintly through her limbs. After a moment she asked breathlessly, “I’m finished now?” with a note of disappointment. Were they not even going to couple properly? After so much fanfare she could not believe it was over without her virginity properly lost. Especially considering this was Loki, who hardly seemed the type to give freely without expectation of an exchange.

“You have the privilege of a woman’s body; you certainly need not be finished yet,” Loki explained with a smirk. “But that will make it easier for what comes next.”

“You can make that happen more than once?” she gasped, astounded through her exhaustion. From other ladies’ stories she hadn’t expected to experience that during her first time _at all_ , let alone more than once.

“Is that a challenge?” Loki quirked an eyebrow, still trying to keep from smiling. He was used to Sif as the calm, unruffled warrior who would sooner knock a man to the ground than show a blush-- not this disheveled, needy thing pleading with him for another orgasm. Her cheeks were flushed from her nose back to her hairline and the hair around her face frazzled from the sweat beading on her forehead, and her small bust rose and fell quickly in her arousal. He rather liked the transformation. It was he who had her pinned and begging this time.

Loki stood and undid his belt and trousers, freeing his cock which had been straining against them for some time now. Surrounded by men in training and battle camps Sif had seen plenty of them before, but never like this, upright to attention and swollen with desire. In their limp form she had always regarded these parts as silly and undeserving of the attention their owners heaped upon them, but now she better understood their pride.

“And to think of how cruelly I used to treat it,” she said wryly as he approached her still-lifted skirts, feeling she ought to distract from her blush with words but unable to think of any other response that didn’t sound foolish or forced. “But it doesn’t seem I did much damage.”

“I should make you apologize properly, but you can understand why I don’t trust it in close quarters with your teeth,” he replied, climbing onto his knees on the bench. 

Although she could not watch him directly, she felt him prod her tender entrance with his finger, then slide it inside. Her body responded instinctively, her hips arching upward as she tightened around him. Seeming satisfied, Loki removed it, dragging some of her wetness with it to spread around her opening, and a moment later she felt something much thicker and harder take its place. It strained against her before finally sliding within, and although his slender finger had fit easily this stretched and strained the entire way, forcing her to lift her hips from the bench and flatten her body to suit its shape.

And then, suddenly, it _stung_. Sif’s entire body tensed as she cried out sharply, and she instinctively pulled back. Loki pushed forward in response, the clenching sensation clearly pleasurable for _him_ , but Sif sat up as best she could and planted a firm hand in his chest. 

“Stop,” she insisted. He paused, perplexed, and she pushed him gently out of her and then onto his back. He watched her with concern, wondering if she had simply had enough, but his eyes widened in understanding as she straddled him instead and guided him back inside her.

With one hand on the bench and the other pressed against his smooth, pale chest-- paler than even Sif’s own chest always hidden from the sun-- she bore down carefully and lightly ground her hips in a small circle until he felt comfortably settled inside her. However, she hovered tantalizingly above him with him only half inside her, refusing to allow him past that threshold that marked her virginity. Loki groaned, wondering if left to herself if she would ever take his full length; he ached to seize her hips and slam her down onto him until he was satisfied.

But then, with a small shout not unlike a warrior’s cry, she pushed past and Loki gasped at the tightness that consumed his entire cock. She paused for a moment as her lips curled into a vaguely triumphant smile before continuing to rock against his hips.

She was not tentative and gentle as Loki would have expected from a virgin-- and he did not mind that at all. With every thrust her wet warmth clenched tightly around him seeming to suck him upward into her. The muscles in her arms and abdomen were lean and taut so only her pert breasts shook, her breath coming in short gasps as she took his length clear to the hilt, drew back out, and then bore down again. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and he wondered with some amusement if pain had always been appealing for Sif, if that was what had driven her to a warrior’s life in the first place.

Sif relished the look of impressed awe reflected in his green eyes. She smiled considering the irony that he was once again pinned at her mercy-- but this time, anything but miserable. She kept her hands against his chest, keeping him flat against the bench with his hair splayed around him, grinding down into him and watching intently as his face reflected the nuances of pleasure she put him through. It was a thrilling sense of power, having control over what he felt.

She wondered if her first orgasm had never entirely finished, because within minutes she felt the telltale warmth gathering and expanding in her pelvis. At first she threw her head back, sucking in deep breaths, until as the wave of pleasure overtook her she could no longer sit upright and began to hunch forward towards Loki.

Meanwhile, Loki was on the cusp of his own orgasm, eyes half-lidded and distant and mouth slack as he continued to arch his hips upward into hers. As Sif’s arms grew slack in exhaustion from her climax, she leaned forward over him and pinned his wrists beneath her hands-- just as she had done countless times when they were children-- and as she did so her hair tumbled over her shoulders to surround him in blonde curtains that trapped the scent of her sweat and sex into an intoxicating perfume. It was this that sent him over the edge, gasping as his entire body tensed. He shook under her grasp, veins bulging in his forearms as he thrusted through his climax, lifting Sif’s limp frame with every arch of his hips.

Finally, he exhaled and deflated, his body limp beneath hers. After a moment Sif pushed herself off from him and felt some of his seed spill from her body. She breathed a small prayer of hope that they had not just produced a bastard Lokison. 

For several moments they did not look at each other. Loki stood and discreetly righted his pants while Sif put her gown back in order and re-braided her hair, both of them feigning intentness on their mundane tasks. However, as Sif twisted her necklace back in place, Loki came up quietly behind her and placed a gentle hand on the hair resting on her shoulders.

“You are tired now?” he asked.

She was, though it was not head-nodding exhaustion so much as a sweet heaviness in her body. “I am finished with feasting for tonight,” she replied stiffly.

“I have no care to return to the hall, either,” he agreed, sliding onto the bench beside her.

They sat in silence for several minutes, but even from beneath their clothes their bodies seemed to call to one another. Loki felt intimately familiar to Sif now, his scent almost as accustomed to her as her own, and between her tiredness and lingering inebriation by and by she was lying her head in his lap. “Here,” Loki suggested, helping to shift her off his legs so she could lie flat and lying himself down on the bench behind her. He pulled her onto her side against him, the small curves of her body tucking snugly into his. The bench was still cushioned from his spell, and with their thin bodies interlocking they both fit comfortably upon it, basking in the delicious glow of post-orgasm somnolence. 

However, as Sif's blood stilled and the last lingering traces of pleasure faded away, she became aware of an unpleasant gnawing in her heart, needling guilt and regret as her mind turned once again towards Thor. She knew Thor did not know, nor likely care, and thus there was no reason to feel as if she had betrayed him-- and yet she could not shake the feeling that she had, even if it was only out of her own personal dedication to him that he did not return. And that she had so thoroughly _enjoyed_ this betrayal only added to her guilt. She had never longed for anyone as she had longed for Thor, and yet she had successfully drowned her devotion with the raw physical pleasure of coupling with his very _brother_.

Loki seemed conscious of her troubled mind-- but, she supposed, how could he not, with his belly flush against her back and his face buried in her hair, so close they were practically one?-- and slipped a hand around her waist to hold her with calm and confident protectiveness, even possessiveness. She wondered why he stayed when his own fine bed was just within the palace, but she was glad that he did; it was assuring to know that at least Loki liked her enough to stay. His calming embrace quieted her conflicted mind and it was not long before she fell asleep.

Loki waited until the slow of Sif’s breathing indicated deep slumber. He extricated himself carefully from their embrace, gently pulling his arm out from under her and resting her head back onto the bench. He ran his fingers once more through her sleek golden tresses, indulging in their soft, smooth touch and admiring the way they glowed in the dim light, grinning gleefully at how successfully the night had gone.

Then from his belt he took his sharpest small dagger. Lifting a thick lock of the silken gold, he slid the blade up as close to her head as he could before slicing it free. He nearly giggled watching it fall lifeless away from her head, leaving nothing but stubble so fair and fine it barely concealed her scalp. Entranced by the revelation of her bare head nearly as pale as his own skin, he slid the dagger in again and again, until he had shorn away all that connected Sif to her golden braid.

He was tempted to run his hand over her denuded scalp, feel the fine down that was all that remained of her once glorious mane, but he restrained himself for fear of waking her-- although for all the maneuvering necessary to cut the hair on all sides of her head, she had not stirred at all. She even seemed to smile in her sleep, as if relieved to be free of the hot heavy weight. With a triumphant grin and a delicate flick of the wrist he concealed the braid into thin air, then stole quietly back into the palace.


	3. Chapter 3

Sif did not wake until the morning light was enough to crest the towers of the palace and shine directly on her face. The first thing she noticed was that Loki had left, his hands gone from her waist and his body no longer supporting her back. She sighed in spite of herself, wondering how recently he had departed-- but given how late in the morning it was, it was possible he had stayed until dawn, only to rise when called by one of the many duties she knew filled the days of a prince. She felt vaguely ashamed of her own leisurely sleep, knowing by now she ought to have taken care of her chores in the stables and begun training for the day, but Asgard was forgiving of its younger citizens' indolence in the mornings after great feasting. Asgardian mead could take a few centuries to get used to.

She stirred on the bench, stretching her joints and bones that had become sore as Loki's cushioning spell had worn off overnight. When she sat up, however, she noticed she could not feel her hair against her back. For a drowsy moment she justified this as a mis-memory of having worn her hair up in a formal style the night before, but she felt none of the heavy asymmetry of a slept-on updo, either, and soon remembered she had not worn it that way. Still too subdued to feel dread, she reached her hand up curiously to her scalp.

Her drowsy mind snapped to alertness with a brutal start as her palm laid against the sharp bristle of hair cut close to the skin. She almost screamed as she realized her hair was _gone_.

With no mirror she could not see the damage done, but by shifting and pressing her hand along her scalp she determined her entire head had been cropped to a mostly-even length, so short she could feel skin even as the sharp stands resisted her fingers. She had not had such short hair since she was an infant; aside from the trims necessary to keep it healthy and thick she had never cut it in her life. _Centuries_ of hair, gone in an instant! It would take centuries again to regrow.

She did not need to question who had done it-- the answer overtook her like a wave of nausea-- her foremost concern was concealing herself. She looked frantically around the bench for something to cover herself with, some way to hide until she could flee to the safety of her bedchambers before being seen by anyone, but there was nothing but herself and her now-wrinkled dress covering her body. Even the shorn hair itself had vanished.

Then, as if fate itself had intervened purposely to ensure her doom, there was rustling in the hedges and she was discovered by the very last person she wanted to see.

"Thor!" she gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth, although it was too late; before she had even spoken Thor had already seen her, his eyes going wide with shock. Sif felt the blood rushing to her face and wondered if her flush was visible all the way up her bare scalp. What a sight she must be! Her hands flew to cover it but there was no hiding her entire head, and feeling the hair so short it bristled against her palms was enough to make her want to cry.

"What happened, Sif?" Thor asked, clearly struggling to keep his eyes on hers as they instinctively kept hopping back up to her hairline.

"I- I don't know!" she sputtered, although already she knew exactly what had happened-- or at least _who_. With Loki on her mind, she scrambled desperately to offer an explanation for her damning presence in the gardens, still in her dress from the night before. "I came out for air last night, I had drunk too much mead, and I must have fallen asleep in the garden. And when I woke, I . . . I . . . "

"It was unwise to depart to the gardens unaccompanied in such a state," Thor said softly, eyes wide with concern. He furrowed his eyebrows as he pondered who could have wanted to harm Sif. However, he wasted no time pulling his cloak from his shoulders and draping it around her, laying it gently over her head to cover it like a hood. In any other moment Sif would have melted at this tenderness, but his pity shamed her so she recoiled at his touch. She pulled the fabric tightly around her face and held it at her throat to shield her entire scalp from view, lamenting that she was too shaken and humiliated to savor being wrapped in this blanket of Thor's smell and the warmth of his body from moments before.

"If the mead was strong, are you certain no . . . further harm was done to you?" he asked hesitantly, clearly embarrassed at the intimacy of the question. Sif felt the color rise irresistibly in her face and Thor immediately blushed himself, clearly thinking he'd embarrassed her in mentioning such a thing to a purported virgin.

“No,” she said quickly-- perhaps too quickly. “I believe I’m fine.”

It was then their attention was caught by a rustling in the hedges.

At breakfast Loki had sent Thor into the gardens with the promise there was a sight worth seeing, and he wouldn’t miss seeing him see it for all the world. His plans for Thor's own humiliation were already set in motion, but he needed his unwitting assistance for what he planned for Sif. Thor might be slower to laugh at Loki's pranks these days, but surely he would not fail to be entertained by the haughty Sif with her greatest beauty shorn away, dulling her pride and the sting of her sharp tongue. Had they not all been wounded by it some time or another?

He strode gleefully several paces behind Thor, and as soon as he heard the two conversing revealed himself through the hedges. “Have you admired Sif’s hair this morning, brother?” he asked lightheartedly, expecting Thor's audible amusement and the squeal of Sif’s indignation.

However, he was met only with the flash of Thor’s eyes like lightning-- and Loki wasn’t certain but he thought he felt a cold twinge of humidity growing in the air, a sign of his brother’s oncoming storms. “This was your doing, Loki?” he thundered, less question than accusation. “What mischief is this, to humiliate a lady so?”

Loki’s heart fell as his agitation rose, hating more than ever Thor’s newly-assumed air of authoritarian righteousness that had replaced the laughter he had anticipated. Of course he expected Thor to pity Sif and apologize to her _eventually_ \-- Sif would in her humiliation rage at Thor for laughing while Thor stupidly tried to make light of it, until she finally wore him down into guilt-- but he was supposed to laugh now! Half his plan, come to naught.

Changing tacks, he rolled his eyes dismissively. “Oh come now, it is only hair. It will serve her better in battle not to have such an unwieldy tail.”

Thor’s eyes blazed, clearly impatient with Loki’s irreverence. He strode forward and, before Loki had time to react, seized him by the neck and held his jaw so he was forced to look directly into his face. “I ought to break every bone your body!” he threatened.

Sif’s heart raced at the altercation before her. Loki looked differently to her now by the light of day, knowing that she had trusted him and _this_ is what he had made of it. Perhaps it was only the veil of night-- or the mead she had drunk-- but she had clearly forgotten how childish and meanspirited he could be. He had been sympathetic and charming to her, yes, but how could she have let herself trust the notorious Trickster? In the end, his kind form had been nothing more than another of his illusions. She wanted badly to see him hurt and humiliated, and the sight of Thor holding him by the throat, his voice booming like violent thunder as he confronted Loki in her defense, thrilled her so much she even felt the familiar wetness stirring between her legs again. And good, she figured; perhaps that would clear out any last vestiges of Loki that still clung there.

“’Twas only an innocent prank, Thor,” Loki labored to breathe, trying hard to temper his own indignation in order to calm his outraged brother.

“This goes beyond innocent prank, Loki,” Thor shook him. “You attacked a young woman when she was vulnerable and injured her grievously."

"Attacked?" Loki could not resist a strained laugh at _that_. "Her _hair_ , Thor? If she was injured so grievously as you paint it, then why did she sleep through the entire thing?"

“Do not diminish the damage you have done! You meant to humiliate her deeply. Are you such a coward you could not address your grievances directly? Did you fear if she were conscious she would only wound your outsized ego further?”

Sif’s jaw dropped; so _that_ was the motivation Thor presumed?-- that Sif must have _rejected_ Loki, and this had been his revenge? She wondered if he had seen them in the hall last night. Clearly he had not seen what had transpired in the garden . . . but knowing he knew threw her mind into a chaos of questions. Had he felt _jealous_ of Loki's attention? Did assuming Sif’s rejection change anything?

Loki twisted his lips into a painful frown to keep his tongue still. His prank had misfired and now Thor assumed he pined for Sif. _Of course_ pathetic little Loki would pine for the great beauty he could _of course_ never attain, as if his preference for subtlety and discretion-- lost on great boastful oafs like his brother-- was damning evidence of virginity or worse. However, he held his tongue. There was still one advantage he had-- and would always have-- over Thor: patience. He would not sabotage the best of his plan yet to come.

“It was only a bit of fun, Thor,” he repeated, his voice conciliatory.

Thor was not consoled. “Oh? Then perhaps Sif and I shall have our own fun tearing your hair strand by strand from your head until you too have none!" he roared, seizing a fistful of Loki’s slick hair and giving it a great yank.

"Stop-- stop--!” Loki panicked as he felt a few stands rip from his scalp. “I can fix it!”

“Then do so immediately,” Thor commanded, releasing him with a rough push so that he stumbled into the dirt.

Rubbing his scalp where Thor had pulled, Loki righted himself indignantly, eyes narrow as they darted between Sif and Thor. "I cannot simply magick it back," he explained. "But I know of a pair of dwarf smiths in Svartalfheim who are masters of spun gold. I'm certain they can fashion her a hairpiece that would be unmistakable from human hair, even grow as hair naturally would, and yet be indestructible."

"My hair wouldn't need to be indestructible if it weren't for the likes of you!" Sif retorted, finally feeling bold enough to attack him herself.

"You had better, and swiftly, or I will go to the All-Father," Thor threatened, staring him down. "It is only for Sif's privacy I do not tell our parents immediately of what you have done-- but if you dally or fail in this task, they will know of this."

Loki scowled, still angry that Thor had failed to support him and now even angrier that he dare invoke the threat of Odin’s rage. The flush of his cheeks did not exceed a faint pink but that was high color for Loki, and his eyes burned with the ferocious anger of one reluctantly defeated.

Sif noted his outrage with some fear, terrified that any second he would burst forth with their secret. Given his vindictive nature she was surprised he had not already slandered her simply to drag her down with him-- but as last night had proven, Loki was nothing if not unpredictable.

“You must expect at least a day’s journey to Svartalfheim either way, and I cannot say how long it will take to create the hair,” Loki pointed out. “Nor can I anticipate the price of such a commission . . . ”

“Then you will bring enough in your purse to afford even the highest cost," Thor snapped as Loki glowered. Although the princes lived in obvious luxury of the palace, since they did not labor in the traditional sense and received most everything they wanted or needed from their father or as gifts of tribute from their citizens, their own gold for spending was surprisingly little. Loki guarded his carefully in case of trading with foreign merchants with exotic spellbooks and artifacts. But who else could be expected to pay for the dwarves' fine craftsmanship? Surely not Sif herself.

And with Thor’s threats hanging overhead, he had no choice. “Then inform our parents that I will depart for Svartalfheim presently.” He cast one last vindictive glance at Sif—as if this were _her_ fault-- before turning to stalk away.

Thor’s anger melted into bewildered embarrassment as he turned back to Sif. “I cannot apologize enough on my brother’s behalf,” he said.

“The fault lies not with you,” Sif assured him stiffly.

“Nevertheless, he shames me as well as himself with his actions. One would think a prince of Asgard would have no need to rise to petty jealousies and vengeance against his friends, but his childish malice undoes him.” 

“I am certain it is not so complicated as all that. Loki simply takes his mischief too far,” she replied, though she wondered herself if it were true. Had he enjoyed the night only to wake and remember he was Loki and thus must produce mischief at any cost, and took advantage of her simply because she was there? Or had she done something to provoke him?-- and if so, what?

“I suppose you are right. If Loki were ruled by jealousy, I would surely be dead by now!” Thor laughed and Sif tried to laugh along with him, though inside her thoughts were in turmoil wondering what she could have possibly done to have invoked the Trickster’s wrath.


	4. Chapter 4

Sif had cried when she finally faced a mirror, locked in her private chambers so that no one would see or hear. It was as bad as she had feared. Without the sea of gold that had always curtained it, her skull looked ludicrously small in comparison to the broad shoulders and muscular arms she had built in training. With nothing but wide expanse of nearly-bare skin rising above her eyes, the features of her face looked oddly squished, her ears too small, her scalp too pale.

She was humiliated deeply by the loss of her crowning glory, but she was also shamed in knowing how vain she was for grieving it so. She had always considered herself above the foolish girls who cared for nothing more than their looks and adornments but in the end she did care about her own beauty and femininity, her power to attract the opposite sex even as she constantly rebuffed their advances. Knowing she was still one of the most competent warriors in Asgard was no consolation when she could not bear to be seen by the men in training until Loki had returned with the dwarves’ hairpiece. She scolded herself for her shallowness, telling herself that Thor and the others would be more disappointed by her continued absence in training than shocked by her shorn scalp, but she dreaded their sympathetic questions and kindhearted teasing and could not bring herself to leave her chambers.

After three agonizing days, there came a knock at her door. “I have brought you a gift, _my lady_ ,” came the familiar sarcastic drawl of Loki.

Sif rose and threw on her dressing gown before unlatching the lock to allow him to open the door. As he entered her eyes flitted behind him in hopes Thor had accompanied him, or perhaps Odin or Frigga; as promised Loki had actually been quite swift given the distance to Svartalfheim, but nonetheless she felt Loki deserved the disgrace of being dragged to apologize and make amends following chastisement by his parents. But he was alone, and although Sif did not wish to be alone with him she wished even less for any further delay in having hair upon her head again, so she did not protest.

In Loki’s arms was his gift of apology: a mass of spun gold that spilled in sleek waves over his hands, some of its length falling nearly to his knees. Wasting no time, Sif pulled out a chair and sat so that Loki could easily place the hair atop her head. She was pleased to feel its weight upon her head and shoulders, having felt so naked without it.

“I must use some magic to attach it properly; otherwise it is nothing more than a wig,” Loki explained. Sif nodded her assent but then recoiled as Loki grasped one of her shoulders possessively, as if laying claim to her virginity-- and hair-- gave him some continued ownership of her. Sif wanted badly to jerk away and even strike him, but he was the one with her hair in his hands and the magic necessary to attach it, so she held still.

He lifted his hands and began to weave them gently into her hair, pressing and stroking against her scalp as he muttered the necessary incantation. The massage of his fingertips glowing electric with magic felt strangely and pleasurably sensual, to the point she wondered if he was doing it purposely that way to torment her. She was very careful to hide her squirms, and when he finished he bid her rise, inspecting the full length of her locks with the guise of a perfectionist towards his work, Sif had the unpleasant suspicion he was not merely scrutinizing her hair.

“It is fine,” Sif assured him through gritted teeth.

“Such spite. This is the gratitude you show me for my swift journey to Svartalfheim, and having come all the way from the main palace to spare you the shame of venturing out of your chambers?”

"Aye, I do know how much you value _privacy_ ," she snipped, feeling bold now that the hair was attached and there was nothing more she needed from him. Too afraid of what he might say to Thor, she had not attacked him the garden. “You were so coy to isolate me in the garden, making me believe you were being a gentleman who cared only for _discretion_ and not merely the cover of darkness to conceal your deeds. You are a shameless liar."

Loki's lips blossomed into a gleeful smile. "You might know my tongue best for its other gifts, but it has a reputation for that as well."

“So I take by now our tryst was entirely a means to your cruel ends?”

"It is touching you speak of _our_ tryst, as if you were not thinking of Thor the entire time,” he sneered. “Perhaps I should apologize for not employing my magic to aid in your delusion. We might as well have asked him to join us, for all his presence there already.”

“Do not be crude,” Sif scolded coldly.

“Oh but Sif, do not think you were the only one thinking of Thor as we coupled. I fear we are equally guilty of jealousy.”

For one bewildered moment Sif thought Loki had admitted unseemly feelings for his own brother, but she soon understood-- and corrected him: "It is plain Thor has no interest in me to envy you for."

Loki laughed darkly. "Oh, but he _will_. A beautiful maiden of wit and talent, already beloved by his parents? You are no mere conquest at a feast; you are the kind he will take as a wife. We both know my brother is not particularly gifted with foresight, but I think he has brains enough to recognize that while it would be noble to come to you a changed man after years of debauchery, to have you so soon would mean the end of his fun forever. But nevertheless Sif, you are the ultimate prize."

Although she bristled at the implication she would represent the "end of his fun," Sif's heart fluttered at hearing what she had always hoped spoken aloud: that Thor _would_ love her and all would be well in time. To accept this presumed fate was so tempting that she struggled to stay grounded, reminding herself of the dangers of Loki's false flattery. She had already been burned by it once.

“But if you mean to make Thor jealous, why have you said nothing to him of this?” she pointed out.

Loki shook his head with mock impatience. "Because he is _not_ yet jealous of you, as you have keenly observed-- though as he has so nobly defended you in the wake of my mischief, perhaps that is already beginning to change. But I am waiting yet for the day when he can no longer ignore you, aches with wanting you, and _must_ have you. When he sees nothing but you and you alone as his paramour. And then it will not be me . . . but _you_ who tells him.”

"I-?" Sif recoiled.

"Surely he'll have some questions for you when you are not . . . intact."

Sif's jaw dropped sharply. "Thor is not so naive as to believe that Asgardian brides are all virgins!”

"Thor is very traditional," Loki shrugged. "He believes Frigga when she says she was, and while he may dally with whomever for now, I am sure he will have high expectations for a _wife_. And since you are so renowned for your virtue . . . "

Sif made a noise of clear disbelief, refusing to accept that Thor could be so old-fashioned, nor hold anyone to a standard he did not hold to himself.

"Believe what you will,” Loki shrugged again. “Of course, either way you have slept with his _brother_ , an unforgivable betrayal by any measure. And he will know of it, for _you_ are not a gifted liar, Sif. I only wish I could see his face at the moment he realizes his virgin warrior queen is a slut of the lowest rank."

She was quiet for a moment, steaming in the truth of this. It was one thing to admit simply to a lapse of resolve in years of waiting, but it was quite another to have been taken in by his own kin. “But how is he to know I came to you willingly?” she nearly spat in spite.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Think of what you accuse, and of whom,” he hissed. Accusing a prince of Asgard of rape was a very serious charge. “And think if you are remotely capable of defending it.”

Sif miserably bit her lip, feeling ashamed of herself for having suggested it. As much as she wanted to blame Loki for all that had transpired, she could not blame him for that. For all his scheming intentions he had come nowhere close to ravishing her and had put her pleasure before his own; _she_ had been the one to command them depart for the gardens, even chosen when and how to break through the threshold of her virginity.

“But it was not enough to take my virtue under false pretenses; you had to humiliate me further by cutting my hair?” 

Loki laughed-- a long, dark, satisfied laugh. “Oh, Sif. Taking your virtue was nothing against _you_. You practically begged me to do it. You far too enjoyed the process to leave that stand as your only punishment.”

“Punishment? For what?”

He took a step forward, eyes ablaze with a strangely fanatical triumphant gleam. “For your vanity, Sif. For your insufferable need to hold yourself higher than everyone around you. For your arrogance in believing you could alternately humiliate and ignore me for years and still have me meaninglessly at your convenience.”

Sif recoiled as if she had been slapped, his surprising catalog of grievances leaving her dumbfounded. The scale and skill of Loki's deception was unfathomable, to have so thoroughly masked the depths of his apparent hatred for her with the illusion of lust and affection.

“Even as we coupled, you couldn’t resist, could you?” he continued. “Comments about my hair, about how badly you used to hurt me. How _obviously_ you would have preferred I had been Thor.” 

Sifs mouth felt dry as she struggled to speak. None of those things had been intended malice, and he had made light of them at the time. Was it really necessary to apologize for such things so far gone in the past? Could she at no point be free of the actions she had taken as a girl? Loki’s anger was so beyond unreasonable it began to make _her_ angry-- especially since he had already taken his revenge!

"So you meant to teach me a _lesson_?" she sputtered, forcing a laugh to mask her discomfort. "How very uncharacteristically _moral_ of you."

"I may not share your morals but that does not mean I lack them."

"Bitter vengeance for the sake of your wounded ego hardly counts as morality."

"I will see justice served as I see fit."

She sniffed. "Then thank Odin _you_ are never to rule Asgard."

She had not realized that would be her death blow, but as Loki’s expression hardened she was immensely pleased for having said it. It would be added to the permanent tally he apparent kept of her grievances, but she didn’t care, for she had no intention of ever trusting him again.

"I shall take my leave if you are satisfied now," he said coldly.

"I am," she replied with equal chill, glad to be rid of him. 

He bowed ludicrously low in obvious sarcasm; as his station was higher than hers he was not obligated to bow her presence, and he never had-- not even as a courtesy of respect to a lady, as the others did-- and then he was gone.

No sooner than the door had shut than Sif flew to the mirror to take in her new hair. She was pleased to see that Loki's gift had not suffered for his spite, though perhaps it was the dwarves who refused to make anything less than perfection. It was, if she dared admit it, even more beautiful than her natural hair had been. It was a darker, bronze gold with metallic highlights running throughout not only shone but sparkled, glittering like stars even in the low light of her chambers.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Loki had paid his due to her, and she to him; it was done now. Forcing his accusations of vanity from her mind, she wrapped herself in her new hair and guiltily dreamed of the effects of her great new beauty: the compliments of her friends, the jealousy of the other ladies-- and perhaps the finally realized devotion of Thor. Even though she knew his lips as those of liar, she hoped that what he had said was true.


	5. Chapter 5

Unfortunately, Sif's joy was short-lived.

She had returned to training but had to wait patiently to reveal her new locks to her companions, for Loki had returned with other gifts commissioned from the dwarves (Sif had rolled her eyes at his transparent intentions; the gifts were clearly bribes for Thor's favor, meant prevent him telling tales) and the recipients had all disappeared from Asgard city to test their reputed powers and compare their might. Between waiting and training it was not long before she took her first opportunity to bathe with her new hair.

In the quiet solitude of the bath house she undressed and slid into the blissful warmth of the small pool. She was gentle with her scalp at first, still fearful Loki's spell might weaken, but gradually relaxed as the bonds held and the golden locks saturated with the clear water. She admired the way the tendrils waved and spiraled around her in the bath, curling just as natural hair would but sparkling furiously even when soaked. She felt as lovely as a nymph and imagined how the next time she made love-- this time, she pictured, in the luxury of a lush private chamber with a bed, not a mere garden bench in earshot of the feasting hall-- she would lie in wait for her lover wearing nothing but the veil of her hair, tumbling over her fair skin strategically to tempt and tease until he could not resist brushing it away to reveal her nude form.

However, when she returned to her chambers, standing before the mirror to style her hair, she was startled to see several violent streaks of black tainting the gold, running down the strands like muddy highlights. At first she assumed it was mud, perhaps from some unpleasant leak in the ceiling her attendants would need be alerted to, but when she raked her hands through it to brush it away the texture of the black felt no different from the gold-- and what's more, the black _spread_. She quickly discovered with dismay that anywhere her hands touched, the gold faded into black.

She threw on the simplest shift she could bear to be seen in public and, unwilling to touch her hair to even so much as bind it, fled her chambers for the main palace, her mottled wet mane quickly soaking the back of her dress.

Loki was generally not an easy person to find when one wanted him, as he was prone to tucking himself away in shadows from which he could observe and spell-cast from the protection of his concealment and wiling away hours in quiet spaces where he hoped not to be disturbed. But Sif found him by searching in precisely the last place she would expect to find Thor: Odin’s library. Upon considering it she was surprised he was not at the competition of his gifts, but rather lingering at the palace. Perhaps Thor had told his tale after all, and he had been confined in punishment? Or had he sabotaged his other gifts as well and did not wish to be present when this was discovered?

Her sudden approach startled him and he turned with a jump, but he clearly relaxed as he recognized her; if he _had_ been expecting something sinister, she was not it. In fact, he smiled as she approached.

“Are you looking for another tumble in the garden?” he asked her, having the audacity to lick his lips. “Or . . . the library is empty at the moment.”

“What did you do to my hair?” she thundered with no patience for his jests.

"Oh, Sif, your hair!" he cried with mock surprise, as if he had only just noticed it. "You've tarnished it! You really ought to take better care of your things."

" _What did you do?_ " she repeated.

"I didn't do a thing. You must have been careless and gotten it wet."

"Of course I got it wet! I have to bathe sometime, don't I?"

"It's spun gold, Sif. It tarnishes when exposed to moisture, as most untreated metal will."

"And were you going to _tell_ me of this treatment?"

"I know nothing of it," he shrugged, apparently amused by his own deliberate uselessness, but then approached her confidently to take hold of some of her hair. Sif jerked away but he still held a lock, his pale fingers sliding down the smooth shaft as she moved and smearing the last of the gold away. "But do not fear, Sif, the strands are still strong as ever. Shining and healthy, just as I promised."

"But it's _black_!" she cried.

"But I thought you said dark hair is fine as well," Loki retorted, eyes dancing as his lips formed the words in subtle mockery of what Sif had said to him the night in the garden. "And it suits _you_ , anyway."

Something snapped in Sif. Would she _never_ be free of his grudges? Even after he had taken his revenge? She was furious with him for preying on the precise weaknesses he saw in her first to drive her to his bed, then to humiliate her for it, and to continue to hold her to his every slight from now until eternity-- but she was also infuriated with herself for her vanity and insecurities that had made her so vulnerable and easily exploited in the first place. She could no longer allow Loki to humiliate her and lord over her with his threats. She was, after all, a maiden renowned for allowing no man to defeat her and, just as she had defeated him countless times as children, Loki would be no exception.

Assuming their verbal spar was over and that with the last word he had won, Loki had turned away. His mistake. Sif strode forward and seized him by his own sleek black hair. He yowled in shock and she recognized how his hands flew up to the ready to perform some arcane spell, but Sif was too swift for him; she turned him and kneed him in the groin, _hard_ , then immediately released him so he plummeted heavily to his knees before her. His eyes nearly crossed and grew moist as he gasped; Sif smiled cruelly as she recognized this tearful submission from their childhood, also noting that his expression of pain was ironically similar to that of his pleasure.

However, his pain was not enough. She was ready to inflict on any man who so much as whistled at her; it was far too inadequate for the likes of Loki, whose humiliation and trickery had afflicted her far worse than any mere _pain_. She seized his hair again and held it tight in her fist so that he would not move from his kneeling position. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, seething with pain and hate, but she glared back at him with equal fury.

"I have always been able to hurt you in the past, and I can still hurt you now," she hissed. "One night which I refrained does not change that." 

She leaned closer to him. “And you lie to yourself, Silvertongue, if you think you have _won_ by driving me from you forever," she said. “You have had me once, but I would sooner slit your throat than touch you again. If you so much as scratch your manhood in my presence I will split it down the middle so you piss in two streams. You may gaze upon me from the distance you always have, but from now on it will be always with the knowledge that _you will never have me again_.”

He pretended to ignore her, so she wrenched his hair so he was forced to look her in the face. “And when the day comes, Trickster, that Thor has me as we both know he will, your memory will betray you as you imagine us together. You know exactly what he feels inside me as we make love, know that he sees the parts of me which are _still_ blonde, know the color of my cheeks and sound of my moans as he brings me to pleasure again and again—and you will imagine this vividly at the sight of every kiss, every moment we disappear together, every time you gaze upon the children we bear. And like the throne of Asgard, you will know that no matter how desperately you desire it, it belongs to Thor and not to you. You may see it, feel it, taste it within your grasp, but it will never be _yours_.”

Loki started to laugh his low, derisive laugh-- his instinct to demonstrate that she had not gotten under his skin, that he had won-- but Sif made a jerk as if to strike him again and he flinched automatically-- and it was Sif's turn to snicker. "Think on it, Loki. You are not the only one who can hold a grudge. You are not the only one with the patience to wear someone down over years and years."

She released him, and with a pitiful shallow bow she was certain would insult him, she took her leave-- and, walking away, began to smile at her triumph.

***

Sif spent the evening alone in her chambers with her comb and some hair oil, meticulously working out the last of the gold. She was gratified that as the mismatched colors gave way to solid, unmuddied black the color had no effect on the shine. It did not glitter as the gold had, but it _shone_ , each bend and curve ignited by the light. The dark contrast highlighted the fair complexion of her skin and brought out her eyes. It also occurred to her that there would even be practical advantages to the black, such as greater stealth during night battles, and perhaps the ability to pass as Vanir in realms that resented the rule of Asgard but held peaceful sentiment towards the less powerful Vanaheim. She knew such techniques had aided Hogun before.

When all the gold had been stripped away, she was genuinely shocked at how beautiful the black that remained. While the fair blonde reflected well the youth and purity of her girlhood, the black seemed to better suit the mystery and sensuality of a woman who had since come of age. She had to admit there was a pleasant poetic significance in the change of her hair reflecting the milestone she had crossed-- even if she hated that Loki held credit for both.

Or did he? He had not ravished her, after all; it was she who had gone willingly with him, wanting the touch of a man, wanting her virginity gone. And just as Loki had said, their tryst had not been about Loki—and it had not truly been about Thor, either. Although driven by some insecurities and a little mead, it was nonetheless what she had wanted in that moment and it was useless to regret. Loki's cruel intentions did not matter when hers were her own. And while Loki was to blame for her hair, he had also fixed it-- more or less-- and it was up to her how she chose to proceed in light of both of those things. If vanity had left her vulnerable, then it was her task to rise above it.

When had she become so easily manipulated, her emotions so readily toyed with at the hands of mere boys? How had she changed from the determined little girl who would have struck down any one of them without a moment's thought into such a passive young woman? She had always been so disdainful of those who seemed too subject to their basest impulses, sleeping with whomever regardless of the consequences, only to have made the same mistake by allowing her feelings for Thor and some unfounded sense of virgin propriety to cloud her insight into her own desires. And to let Loki think even for a minute that he had had the power to humiliate her at all . . . Well, never again!

She rose the next morning with an easy mind, already at peace her raven hair. Happily Thor and his companions had returned, though most of the warriors had concerned questions about her absence and the obvious physical change upon her return. She smiled confidently at their stares and questions-- though she could not resist responding: "You may ask the younger son of Odin about _that_ ," when asked what had prompted the change, relishing the thought that Loki might still yet face further justice at their hands. Her companions all agreed that Loki's pranks had become intolerable and it was no wonder he hadn't dared show his face at training that day, apparently having some excuse about a debt to dwarves.

At one point, Thor pulled her aside from the other warriors and asked with concern: "Are you satisfied with the color, Sif? I will have words with my brother if it does not please you."

“I suppose I don’t mind it,” she shrugged, though she was unable to suppress a smile as Thor's gaze betrayed the beauty he saw in the raven locks. Did Thor _prefer_ brunette?

“It suits you,” Thor nodded agreeably, his words so similar to Loki’s and yet completely different in every way. And then he offered sweetly: “Sif, you are truly beautiful. It makes no difference whether your hair is black or gold, or if you have none at all.”

Sif felt herself blushing—but rather than blowing off his comment with a snide quip as she usually would have, she thought about what Loki had said about being too quick to rebuff. Despite his agenda, he may have had a point. It was at least worth a try.

"Thank you," she said, meeting his eyes with a genuine smile and no trace of defensive ferocity. She held his gaze as she lay a gentle hand on his arm. "You know I do not _need_ you to protect me from your brother, Odinson. But I appreciate that I can count on you for it."

Thor smiled before she turned away to retrieve her sword and shield. What would be would be . . . but for now, she would not be consumed by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the ending isn't too abrupt or open-ended, but the point was to end with the status quo before the _Thor_ movies. Thank you for reading!


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